


Don't Care (But I Do)

by susiephalange



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Caretaking, Gen, Momma Rocket Raccoon, Rocket Raccoon-centric, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, gender neutral reader, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 07:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13608768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: The Reader hasn't been taking care of themselves, and Rocket takes it upon himself to do it for them.





	Don't Care (But I Do)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from my Wattpad.

Rocket the Raccoon was not a very compassionate creature. He did not put the light out at night when the others wanted it off. He often left things laying around, where others could hurt themselves. If it wouldn’t help himself, then Rocket did not help. It was quite a simple philosophy, and he stuck to it. Until he met a very stupid human. He thought a lot of humans were stupid, and yeah, he only knew two (but that didn’t stop him from disliking humans).

_______ did not take care of themselves. They sometimes went days without eating, showering. In battle, they were clumsy, sometimes ignoring the battle plan designed by the Guardians. They rarely got of the Milano when the team docked into a planet, and if they did, they never strayed too far away from the group.

It was all these very things about _______ that made Rocket decide. He had to make sure this stupid human took better care of themselves. After all, it was to make sure the team would work better, right? Not that he cared about this hairless ape.

He noticed one day that _______ had not gotten up. Sure, it was their day off, but even Drax got out of bed, and perhaps showered on days allocated for himself. Rocket wrinkled his nose, just thinking of how disgusting _______ smelled after a day without self-care and took it upon himself to intervene.

“Okay, you need to go.” He barged into the bunks were _______ lay, not caring if they were asleep or naked or worse. He threw their blankets off and wrapped a hand around their wrist. “You smell so bad. Go. Shower. Use soap.”

The human quirked an eyebrow, reluctantly getting out of bed. “What is this, are you the shower police?” They asked with a groan. “Can’t I go one day without showering?”

Rocket made a noise. “Not when you smell like _that_!” He led them toward the ship’s bathroom and barged in there too. He climbed up the sink to the medicine cabinet, and threw a vial of toothpaste at the human. “And brush your teeth, while you’re at it. You smell like an animal.”

“So, I smell like you?” _______ questioned.

Rocket hissed. “Just have a shower, smelly bones.”

* * *

Rocket Raccoon was not a patient creature. He was a blunt speaker in the first place, with a quick fuse to boot, and yet, somehow this trait got worse when he was left waiting. But unlike the usual way he was left angry after a delay, today, he was silent. No snark. No swear words in any alien languages. No passive aggressive gestures.

He’d been waiting for the remote to the entertainment console for three hours while _______ slept on top of it, flopped over the couch like slug, but with human skin. He sat there, in the other chair, arms crossed, staring at them.

Drax approached the other chair and sat. He looked at the empty screen of the entertainment console, to Rocket, and then to _______. He frowned. “Why are you not playing your inane shows, little beast?”

Rocket growls under his breath. “_______’s hogging it.”

Drax goes to stand. “I could lift _______, and get the remote for you,” he offers.

“No!” He says, and thinking quickly, Rocket shakes his head. “I mean, don’t bother.” He says, “It’s not like it’s the only thing we can do for fun on this piece of junk ship.”

“Hey! The Milano is _vintage_ , not junk!” Peter Quill claims, somehow always in earshot.

Rocket rolls his eyes, and waves off Drax. “Whatever. Want to play cards or something?”

Later, when the game of poker ends with him taking a handful of credits from Gamora, he sees that _______’s still on the couch. He notices that _______ is asleep in a ball, huddled in for warmth. He stands there, looking at them, wavering. Then, he fetches a blanket from their room, placing it over his friend.

Rocket isn’t a creature of patience, but for once, he’s learning that sometimes, it’s okay to wait. Even if he missed a show he liked. He sees the remote for the entertainment console peeking under _______’s shoulder. It’s right there. He could catch the tail end of that show.

He turns to his quarters instead. He tells himself it’s been a long day. 

* * *

Rocket Racoon is not a creature that goes out of his way to make things happen, unless it concerns him. Not enough wires to rip out of the wall to use for his bombs? He’ll make Quill turn the Milano around to buy supplies (or he’ll poop in the other guy’s shoes and hide them). If Groot does something stupid, sure, he’ll make sure the tree won’t get seriously maimed, but he won’t just magically become someone he’s not and mother the tree. Groot is growing up, now. Back into the moron he was before, just the way Rocket liked him.

But when he hears _______’s stomach making noises for what must be the third time in an hour, he puts down the manual he’s reading.

“Ugh, would you shut that thing up?” He motions to their midsection, “Have you eaten today?”

His fellow Guardian of the Galaxy considers the question, putting down the novel they were reading. In between missions, they liked to catch up on copies of Nancy Drew that somehow made their way off Earth. “What time is it?” They ask him.

Rocket motions to the holo-clock in the corner. “Mid-afternoon, if we were planetside.” _______’s eyes widen. That’s enough of an answer for Rocket; he scoots from his chair and runs a hand through his fur between his ears. “What is it with you and not taking care of your damn self?” He growls under his breath.  

_______ shrugs. “I guess I forgot. Why do you care, anyways? Thought you were Mr. Tough Raccoon.”

Rocket turns to the stupid human who didn’t eat lunch. “I don’t. Your insides were bothering me with all the noises.” He grabs something from the nearby food storage area and tosses it to the human. “Eat it. Now. I’ve got to focus on this bomb.”

* * *

_______ turns to the Guardians of the Galaxy later that day. Rocket is off tinkering or bothering Mantis. You don’t care, you just don’t want him to overhear you talking to the rest of the team. There’s a blanket over your shoulders, and the team are sitting with various beverages – mostly alcoholic, except for Gamora, who has the other mug of hot chocolate you made – waiting for you to speak.

“I’ve only been with you guys for like, what, six months?” You start, cradling your mug. “But I’ve come to notice, ugh, Rocket, he’s…”

“Foul mouthed and furry,” Drax interrupts, raising his glass of beer.

You consider those words, and despite their accuracy, shake your head. “Um, well, no, not to me. He’s rude, sure, but…he’s always on my case.”

Peter chokes on a sip of his drink. “Don’t tell me he’s in Mom mode on you.”

Your eyes widen. “Mom mode?” You question.

Gamora nods sombrely. “After our first battle as a team, against the Kree radical Ronan the Accuser, Groot sacrificed himself in a brave move to save us all when a ship we were aboard crashed into Xandarian soil. Rocket was quite close to Groot, having known him for quite a time previously.”

You nod. “I know this story, it’s why Groot’s growing up.”

Peter nods. “Rocket was obsessed the whole time about Groot when he was in his, uh, infant phase. Always was on his case, tailing the poor tree around like he was his Mom. Made sure we let Groot grow up in peace, didn’t take him on many battles…especially after the fiasco with the button.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, sure, my Dad was trying to kill us, but Groot alone was stressful!”

Drax nods. “I too think Rocket is mothering you.”

Gamora throws her marshmallow at him. “We already made that point.”

You take a sip of your hot chocolate. “I’m only like this because I’m transitioning into those meds you got me, Pete. I’ve always had my anxiety under control, but now I feel it’s just…not. I’ll get better, that’s what the pills are for, but…how do I get Rocket off my case?”

They’re all silent.

“I suggest that you should engage in combat,” Drax says.

“Tell him to leave you alone,” Gamora suggests.

“I’d go along with it,” Peter stands, placing his finished drink on a shelf. “Y’know, to me, you don’t seem like you hate it all too much, _______.” He pats at his pockets and gives a wan smile. “It’s your best option, so give it a try. Unless you want to go with those two ideas,” he says, and disappears toward the cockpit. “Alright good luck, bye!”

* * *

 

Rocket Raccoon didn’t care to be touched. He claimed publicly that it was because he was a tough guy and didn’t need any physical contact with anyone to feel better. He didn’t tell anyone that it was because of what happened to him in that lab, all those years ago. He didn’t tell anyone that he felt so horrible at himself that sometimes he considered just ejecting himself into space when the thoughts in his skull became too much.

But he had a team he was on. A team of ragtag aliens and two smelly humans that he belonged to, and if there was anything in the universe that he hated, it was their asses being kicked, and him not doing it.

Sure, it wasn’t the greatest of things to live for, but it was his reason.

When he sees _______ next, he chucks their book to him. It’s a graphic novel, something called _Nimona_ and when he flicked through it, he thought it had too many pages to be a picture book. But he tosses the book to _______, while they’re on the floor in a weird pose, on a foam mat.

“Hey,” _______ says, body contorted as if they’re pretending to be a triangle. “Thanks.”

He shrugs. “Don’t leave your stuff in my room,” he says back, going to leave _______ to their weird poses. But before he can take a step, _______’s freakishly long human arms scoop him from where he stands and gather him in close to their body. “Ugh, you smell so bad!”

_______ laughs, “Toughen up, Rocket, it’s just a hug.”

He squirms. “For what, dingus?” He winces.

“For taking care of me, Momma Rocket.” They say and place back him down upon his feet and go back to the contortion on the mat. “Okay, you’re free to go. Don’t tell anyone I hugged you.”

Rocket shakes his body, trying to get rid of the sensation of the hug. “Wasn’t going to. Later, loser.”

But Rocket walks away, he smiles. Momma Rocket. That doesn’t sound too bad. He’ll ask Quill what a ‘Momma’ is sometime later.

**Author's Note:**

> Buy me [ko-fi](https://www.ko-fi.com/M4M3P4NJ)?
> 
> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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